purgation

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"I'm just trying to work out how sober Andy is".

It is an interesting concept to me, that of level of perceived sobriety in relation to perceived ability to drive safely. I grew up - at least for the interesting learning-to-drive-stage of my life - in the most rural backwater that south western France has to offer. Where road traffic is a concept only vaguely embraced and never really fully understood. Where wild boar and falling rocks are as common as other motorists on an October evening drive up the valley. Where the night clubs are miles from anywhere - so as not to disturb civilisation - and where drinking and driving I fear is as likely as picking a bottle of black Cahors wine to accompany a piece of magret de canard at your favourite restaurant.

But yesterday evening I left my car key behind and walked home. I had a marvellous afternoon and evening in the company of friends and there was no way that driving would have been the right way to get back down Cott Road. Oh and then there is this:

Because while the next morning dawned bright and promissing, my mood was somewhat dampened - again? what now? - by this modification to my car's paintwork. Maybe I shouldn't have driven in the first place? Or maybe there are just some people who should not be allowed to roam the streets. Why such bitter resentment in this world?

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about me

Weeks and months turn into years and who knows what surprises a new day will bring? As shelves fill with more songs, dust collects, memories accumulate and we pass through the lives of others, sometimes pausing, sometimes pulling up a chair, sometimes moving on. Thinking that tomorrow is going to be like yesterday. What do we know? I just like words and pictures, so why make excuses for collecting those either? But some things will never change, the sad songs will always be the best ones.